


Getting To Know Your Lab Partner

by bigskydreamin



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Scott turns into something other than a werewolf, Wingfic, crackfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 13:04:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9273074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigskydreamin/pseuds/bigskydreamin
Summary: AU One shot, essentially a 'what if Peter's bite turned Scott into something other than a werewolf and what if Lydia were the one to discover it and help him with it' kind of deal. Look its crackfic. Someone said okay what about a Teen Wolf character with wings and I wrote Scott with wings, that's it, that's the fic.





	

Scott McCall didn’t show up to class on Tuesday.

Normally, this was not something that would be on Lydia’s radar. Normally, Scott McCall was not something that would be on Lydia’s radar. But AP Bio was one of the only two classes Lydia allowed on her schedule that possessed at least the potential to challenge her. Nobody else whose opinion she cared about was in it, and neither were any of them in the pass/fail History of American Literature elective she’d selected to be her alibi in case any of them ever asked what class it was she had that period. (They never did).

Ergo, when forced to partner up with a classmate for an assignment worth half of one of the only grades she actually cared about - despite her best articulated arguments - she’d done her research before selecting Scott McCall to be hers. Perfect attendance, rarely volunteering answers but always having them once actually called upon, no extracurriculars or social life whatsoever as far as she could tell. In summation, reliable and unlikely to stand in the way of her ending the class with that A she damn well better end this class with. The perfect patsy.

Partner. She meant partner.

Point is, when one Scott McCall both failed to be reliable and stood in the way of that A by failing to show up to class two days in a row, Lydia figured she deserved an explanation for that. Some might call that entitled. She called it - fine, it was entitled. Sue her. Her dad had good lawyers.

And so here she stood in a part of town she hadn’t really ever registered existed other than in a vague, abstract sort of way, standing on the porch of the McCalls’ house. It was small, picturesque and possessed of a quality she didn’t know how to describe with any word other than ‘cozy.’ She had no idea what to do with that, so she got back on task and knocked, sharp and brisk enough to bruise her knuckles on the wood paneling. She could hear the echoes resonate through the house on the other side of the door. She heard nothing else. She knocked again.

When she tried the doorknob after further knocking produced similarly ineffective results, it was simple frustration, really. It wasn’t like she expected the door to be unlocked. Who leaves their front doors unlocked?

Apparently the McCalls, however, because a simple twist of her wrist was all that stood between her and access to their home. Maybe they were the kind of people who counted on basic human decency to keep uninvited strangers on the other side of that door? Hmm. Can’t relate. Food for thought though.

Lydia ventured down the darkened hallway towards the stairs cautiously, because there was always the other possibility she’d accidentally stumbled onto a crime scene. One could never be sure. And when she made her way up the staircase, it was less about being entitled and intrusive and more about following the trail of photographs chronicling the evolution of Scott McCall from chubby-faced baby to gangly adolescent. It was slightly adorable. Don’t quote her on that though, she’d sue. Her dad had good lawyers.

And when she saw the door to the bedroom at the end of the upstairs hall ajar with light from a lamp spilling out into the gloom, then of course she had to check to make sure everything was alright, because why would somebody be at home and yet not answer the door if everything was alright? It was just basic mathematics at that point.

Whatever Lydia Martin expected to find when she pushed open that door, however, it was definitely not Scott standing shirtless in front of a mirror, with large, brown, gray and tan wings sprouting proudly from his back while he awkwardly tried to trap them against his sides with an ACE bandage. Feathers littered the floor; evidence this had probably been going on for quite some time.

In retrospect, that was the moment where Lydia Martin’s life got weird.

Look, she wasn’t just some small town girl who thought the world began and ended at the state line. She’d been to Paris. She’d mastered archaic Latin because she was bored. She actually understood Euclidean geometry and she was well aware that the world was bigger and stranger than anyone could possibly imagine.

All of that did nothing to prepare her for the sight of a classmate with actual wings, actual functional wings, if the haphazard flapping of the twin appendages were suggestive of anything.

So having absolutely no prior experience, knowledge or frame of reference to fall back on in the face of something THIS bizarre and inexplicable, Lydia did what she did best. She compartmentalized.

First off, they were massive. The tailfeathers drooped down to the carpet and they peaked a good foot and a half over his head, she put him at about five foot ten, maybe five foot eleven, did some quick calculations of the height by the approximate breadth of the wing folded tight against his body…Lydia whistled softly. They were looking at a fifteen foot wingspan, easy.

Lydia also whistled out loud, she realized belatedly. Mostly as a result of Scott whirling around with a startled gasp, hands scrambling to hide both wings behind his body, tucked behind him like a shield. Totally futile, of course. But precious. Definitely precious.

“Jesus,” Scott yelped. “Don’t you knock?”

“I did knock. Twice,” Lydia said, still tracking the curve of his wings with her gaze, comparing and contrasting the shape and hue of the feathers with a lifetime’s worth of nature documentaries. At a glance, she wanted to guess they most resembled the wings and feathering of _bubo virginianus_ , aka the great horned owl. Not a species native to this part of California, but then again, teenage boys with wings weren’t exactly native to any part of California so she might just be parsing semantics at this point. “I think you were…preoccupied.”

That put Scott back on the defensive, even though it hadn’t been her intent. He shifted his weight from foot to foot awkwardly. Arched his back as though to try and shove the tips of his wings lower and more out of sight, but really all it did was make his nicely toned chest jut out more. Not that she was opposed to that angle either.

“It’s not what you think,” he tried.

“I think you have wings, Scott.”

“Okay, so, I can explain.”

Lydia tilted her head. “Can you? Really?”

Scott deflated. “Well. No. Kinda? I don’t know. Look, not that I’m complaining, but why aren’t you fleeing in terror right now?”

She shrugged. “You have fluffy brown wings, McCall, not fangs and claws and smoke coming out of your nostrils. Should I be fleeing in terror?”

“No, of course not, its just…I don’t know. Look, its not like I have an instruction manual here. You’re the first person to even see them.”

“I’m honored.” Weird thing is, she actually was. Okay, let’s be real, the weird thing was still the classmate with giant wings sticking out of his back, but relatively speaking. “So not to be crass or anything, but elephant in the room. How is it you have wings, exactly?”

Scott cocked his own head, a surprisingly bird like motion given the appendages framing it, and he shot her an odd look. As though he had any right to be the one acting like there was something strange about this Twilight Zone scene she’d found herself in. “How, huh? Kinda figured your first question would be why do I have wings.”

“Why implies there’s a reason or purpose for your having wings, which is an assumption with no practical basis. How implies simply that there was some mechanism or event by which you developed wings, which is a certainty given that I am one hundred percent confident you didn’t have those last week. Hence, how takes precedence.”

He continued to scrutinize her, and she resisted the urge to fidget, because fuck that, ladies don’t fidget, they make boys fidget. It wasn’t like Lydia was unused to the sensation of all eyes and attention in the room being focused on her after all, but there was a weight to this inspection that was not exactly uncomfortable, but wholly unfamiliar.

“You know, you’re not at all what most people expect.”

“Neither are you, McCall,” she said dryly. “Yes, I have a brain, you have a wingspan, shocking revelations all around. Back to my question please.”

He sighed and flopped onto the edge of his bed. She took it as an invitation to sit next to him. She had a suspicion they were going to be there awhile. Plus it increased her chances of accidentally brushing up against those wings and getting a sense of their relative softness. Purely for the purpose of adding to her mental notes, of course. Look, it was literally for Science.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Scott tried at last. She gave no ground.

“Five minutes ago I wouldn’t have believed what my eyes are telling me. Yet here we are. I’m a believer. You were saying?”

“It’s kind of a long story. A weird story,” he said, trying again. Lydia progressed to full-fledged eye rolling. God, it was like pulling teeth with this one.

“Let’s start with the Cliff Notes version. Once upon a time there was a boy with no wings. Then he had wings. How?”

“I was bit by a werewolf, okay?!”

Lydia blinked. Okay, point to him for that one. Her snark subsided ever so slightly.

“Okay. So. Werewolves are a thing, apparently. How does that equal you having wings instead of claws and an insatiable hunger for human flesh?”

Scott shrugged and scratched his head, a fresh downfall of feathers cascading to the floor following his motions. “I’m not sure I get it entirely myself, but according to this guy, Derek - he’s a werewolf, but not the one that bit me - so like, there’s some old werewolf proverb or whatever about how the shape you take reflects the person you are? I dunno. But apparently, turns out, I am not a wolf.”

He turned pensive. “I’m still not sure if I’m offended by that or not. Derek seemed to think that’s a bad thing, but he’s kind of a dick. So. Yeah.”

“Huh,” Lydia said as she digested this. “So rather than lycanthropy being a contagion that replicates exactly in each new host, its more like the bite of a shapeshifter is simply a catalyst for transformative magic the new host’s spirit provides the blueprint to follow. Fascinating.”

She refocused on Scott in time to catch him staring at her. “What?”

“You got all that from what I just said?”

She blushed before she had a chance to body check her basic physiological response to flattering male attention and since when was Scott McCall flattering male attention. Eww. Weird. Focus, Lydia.

“What, like its hard?” She joked, falling back on Legally Blonde quotes as her eyes drifted back down to his still bare chest and she remembered oh no, he’s hot.

“No,” Scott said, corners of his mouth twitching. “Just that I knew there was more to you than met the eye, but from what I picked up while working on our AP Bio project, I figured it was all science oriented. But you’re really running with this whole ‘magic is real’ thing, huh? I mean, it took me a second and I’m the one with the freaking wings.”

“Magic is just science we can’t understand yet,” Lydia shrugged, averting her eyes to the floor. She resisted the urge to twirl a lock of her hair. She. Would. Not. Fidget. Dammit.

“You read Asimov?”

“Who doesn’t read Asimov?”

“Touche,” Scott laughed. He ducked his own head. “Umm. Okay. Maybe it’d be more productive if we both just agreed to stop assuming things about each other?”

She studied him. “I can work with that.”

“Cool.” He grinned and held out his hand. “So hey, I’m Scott McCall, and I’m part bird, apparently.”

She smiled and took his hand. “I’m Lydia Martin. I like birds.”

“While we’re at it, any chance I can get you to stop eyeing me like I’m the blue ribbon at next year’s science fair? I mean, I totally get it, its just…yeah.”

Ooops. Busted. Lydia recovered with a casual hair toss. “Well, you’re just going to have to prioritize there. I can look at you like a marvel of the modern scientific world, or like a shirtless teenage boy who makes for great eye candy. Dealer’s choice.”

Scott blushed again. Point to her. “Don’t you have a boyfriend?”

She shrugged. “Me having a boyfriend doesn’t negate you having nice pecs. Kudos on those by the way. You should consider wearing tighter shirts.”

That was the wrong thing to say, apparently, and the playful climate they’d cultivated evaporated.

“I can’t even get a jersey on with these things, let alone anything tight,” Scott said, turning pensive again. “My mom thinks I’m just sick and holed up in my room but that’s not gonna work for much longer and if I don’t figure out something soon, I really am going to be next year’s science fair exhibit.”

“So there’s no way to get rid of them? They’re just part of being a…were…owl?”

They were definitely going to need to come up with some more expansive terminology, just for the record. Lydia Martin flat out refused to make it a habit of regularly saying things like wereowl with a straight face.

“I don’t think they are, but I honestly have no idea. I don’t think Derek even knows, like…he tracked me down after I was bitten and the fact that I’d already healed proved I was a shapeshifter, but then when he tried to teach me how to shift, like…this happened instead? And he pretty much lost interest then because apparently a werebird or whatever the fuck I am doesn’t help with whatever it is he wanted me for,” Scott said. With no small trace of bitterness.

“But he shifted into a werewolf form, right? And then changed back?”

“Yeah. So I mean I figure its gotta be possible for me to change back too, I just…don’t know how. Nothing I’ve tried has worked.”

“Well, that gives us our basic parameters to start with,” Lydia said briskly, standing and stalking over to his computer. “Clearly, we have two immediately available courses of action. Figuring out how to shift you back, knowing that it is theoretically possible, or else figuring out how to disguise your wings until we figure that out, acknowledging that it might take longer than we’d like to figure out the proper mechanism. Which direction should we tackle?”

“Umm. We?”

“Yes, Scott, we. How did you think this conversation was going to end? A fist bump and me leaving with a ‘cool story, I gotta get to the mall, see you in class if the government doesn’t cart you off to some black ops lab first?’”

“Have you ever given someone a fist bump in your life?”

“Not the point, Scott, I was deliberately emphasizing the ridiculous. Focus.”

He hesitated, standing, but still clearly uncomfortable and undecided. His shoulders slouched, his wings drooped…he definitely should never play poker while shifted, she noted absently. Those things were absolutely a tell. Who knew human-proportioned wings could be so expressive?

“Look, don’t take this the wrong way, because I’m really grateful that you didn’t go fleeing in terror the second you saw me like this, but…why are you trying to help me? I mean, I’m trying not to assume the worst here or anything, but its not like we’re friends, and I have a lot to lose here, so how do I know you’re not just interested in writing a paper about me or turning me over to some science lab for a cash reward and a byline?”

“I have money, Scott, I don’t need more,” Lydia answered abrasively, not knowing how to address his perfectly valid concerns any more delicately than that. For all her varied skills, handling with care was not something ever likely to appear on her resume. So she fell back on playing to her strengths. When in doubt, steamroll them. “And as for the rest, you’re right, I absolutely could turn you over to the science community and solidify my place in history for all time. Fortunately for you, not all of us are attracted to science for altruistic purposes and because we want to spread and share knowledge and information with all for the betterment of mankind. Some of us are just smug bitches who like knowing we know more than anyone else, and knowing I’m the only one who knows all this right here? That’s my catnip.”

“Now sit,” Lydia patted the edge of the bed closest to his desk, having already claimed his chair for herself. “I’m thinking our initial approach should be delving into psychosomatism and the effects of the id and the superego on our physiologies. Obviously there’s a mental trigger involved in the shift from human form to your altered state, and such triggers frequently involve psychological factors like confidence and self-esteem, both of which, no offense, I don’t suspect your cup overfloweth with, so it seems worth a try.”

Scott shook his head and resumed his seat on the bed, albeit closer to the desk. A bemused smile played across his lips. “You’re kind of a force of nature, you know that? Hurricane Lydia.”

“Mmm,” Lydia said absently. She booted up his browser, gratified that his search bar didn’t autofill with various porn site selections. What a treasure. “I prefer to be classified as a tropical storm. It leaves me the option of upgrading to a full scale natural disaster when appropriately pissed.”

“Noted.”

“I always knew you were a smart boy, McCall.”

“No you didn’t,” he scoffed, though he seemed more amused than offended. Curious. “You didn’t even know my name two weeks ago.”

“An oversight on my part. Don’t worry. I learn from my mistakes,” Lydia assured him. They exchanged sidelong classes, complete with smiles. Something shivered along her spine. In retrospect, the wings were the moment Lydia Martin’s life got interesting. This right here? This was the moment Lydia Martin’s life got very, very complicated. That awareness would come later though. For the time being, she simply turned back to his computer, fingers poised above the keyboard, ready to begin the search of a lifetime. “Now in the immortal words of every teenage boy in the history of modern English: Let’s do this already.”


End file.
